


'These words are my heart and soul'

by Forbiddenmichael



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, So be warned, and lukes really cute, anyway, cute little messages, i can kinda see luke doing this, its cute so just read it, literally all this is is fluffy, michaels just really tired, passing notes, well kinda, what can be intepreted as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:58:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forbiddenmichael/pseuds/Forbiddenmichael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next Monday, Michael’s hair was pink. Ever so slightly pink. Like the pink of the marshmallows in a white and pink bag when they are dusted in that whitish coloured powder that sticks to your fingers and clothes. It was light and almost white with a hint of pink. It reminded Luke of candyfloss and he wanted to touch it, run his hands through it, whilst Michael stood there fumbling with the cuffs of his jumper. His hair was pink, and Luke almost fell out of his chair. </p><p>or Luke decides to write two sets of notes, and give one of them to the sleeping boy with rainbow coloured hair in front of him, in hopes that he carries on blessing Luke with the adorable image of him drooling on the desk top. And if he writes cute little notes at the bottom of the notes to make the sleepy boy smile, then that's nobody else's business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'These words are my heart and soul'

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the muke version of a Mikey/reader imagine I did. ive been procrastinating on writing the next part of my chaptered fic, so wanted to post something, even if it is this trash. 
> 
> im in the process of changing all my old stuff from m/you to m/m, so bare with me on that one.
> 
> anyway, hope you like this?? let me know in comments and with kudos?
> 
> ((title from with me by Sum 41))

The boy in front of Luke had green hair. But it wasn’t like that was a revelation. He had green hair every day- well every day from the day that the pale boy had dyed it, before he subjected it to another colour change. It was just that the vibrant colour kind of hurt his sapphire blue eyes that early in the morning. He was sure it would hurt most people’s eyes if there was a luminous green haired boy sitting a row in front and one seat to the left- ‘no, I’m not were not a stalker’, Luke often had to defend when ranting about the ever changing colours to his best friend, Calum, ‘I just know where he sits’…not a stalker- at 8.30 on a Monday morning. 

The owner of the offending hair had equally blinding skin. With a white, almost translucent quality, it contrasted with his hair, making both the white and the green equally vivid. The darker green of his eyes stood out no matter what colour his hair was, the golden eyelashes around them framing the green irises, and the deep colour of his lips was something most girls could only dream to achieve with lip-gloss. Luke knew the black of his tattoos would stand out against his white skin, but the ink was always hidden under the sleeves of an ever present hoodie, much to Luke’s disappointment. Heavy combat boots with hastily tied laces- he’d only noticed the laces as once he had stood on one of them and in the sleep deprived state that he was normally in before (during and after) their boring morning lecture, tripped up the stairs of the tiered seating of the lecture hall. 

No one had paid any attention to the boy, taking his expertly placed eyebrow piercing and skinny jean clad appearance as a sign of indifference to anything anyone else said. But a guy with a ridiculously curly hair, and indescribable eyes - literally, there were no words that perfect described the colour of them. Luke often tried to explain to Calum about how ‘so utterly his type’ the curly haired boy was, but when asked to give a description, came up short- who sat at the front of the class, and annoyingly always shouted out the wrong answers did shout out a “Well done Mikey”, followed by a somewhat manic cackling sound. 

It was still cute though, how a guy with obnoxiously loud hair, an obnoxious (hot, in his weaker moments, Luke would admit that the piercing did make his stomach do little flips of excitement) eyebrow piercing and even more obnoxiously loud music blaring from his headphones most mornings- Luke did make note of his excellent music taste, that was when the music from his headphones wafted back to his seat the row behind- could do something as endearing as tripping over a hurriedly tied lace. 

Anyway that was off the point, Luke thought. The boy’s hair in front was green, and it was distracting. Like it was directly in his line of vision to the teacher, effectively preaching about when in real life you would use the quadratic formula. On a side note, his argument was completely invalid, and Luke never failed to see why anyway would care, but equally off topic. The vibrancy of the boys hair drew Luke towards him, like a moth to a flame, resulting in many lessons spent furiously catching up on the way to solve the problem on the board, having spent too much time with his gaze on the boy, instead of on the white board. And it wasn’t like the green haired boy was ever doing anything different, just sleeping. Oh yeah sleeping. That was what had Luke’s attention drawing back to him every time the teacher screeched about an x needing to be factorised or something just as horrific. 

When the boy- Mikey, so Michael, Luke guessed- walked into the hall every Monday morning, for a gruelling maths lesson, his feet clomped on the floor, his haired was styled in a way that looked as if he had just been making out with someone behind a bike shed somewhere, with the way it was stuck up at ridiculous angles-even though he knew this wasn’t true. It was half eight, and honestly no one is that up for it, that early in the morning- and also the bags under his eyes were deep purple, the whites of his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, making him look like a zombie. The hands shoved deep in his pockets and the hunch of his back, on which a scruffy ripped backpack was slung, and really, even the white headphones that stood out against his fully black clothing were all signs of a student who really, really needed a good night sleep. He would walk his way to the seat, more or less at the back of the room, stumbling slightly over the discarded bags that littered the floor, and would then sprawl out in his seat. Within the time it took for the warning bell to ring and the teacher to walk into the classroom, his tattooed arms were crossed over the desk, his forehead resting on them, and he was asleep. The nape of his pale neck was visible from the way his head curled down onto the desk, and it looked ghostly white, even when it was scattered with dyed hair. How he managed to get the hair at the top of his neck covered in the dye as well was pretty impressive. 

Once asleep, it’s like the world around him stopped moving. Nothing could wake him up. Not the teacher yelling at the Irish boy with a blonde quiff-Luke took huge pride in the fact that his quiff was undeniably better-who insisted on chucking rolled up balls of paper at the curly haired boy at the front of the room, who called out to the currently sleeping boy. Not when someone got up to go to the toilet- actually translated to escape from the class to use their phone to call for help- and accidently bumped Michael’s foot, or the table his was draped over. And not even the small, ever so insignificant fact that all the time he spent dreaming- probably dreaming about something equally punk rock and illegal- he was forfeiting collecting any notes at all. 

And that’s really where it all started. Well that made Luke sound like a nice, loving person who was just looking out for a fellow student when in reality, he was just selfish and didn’t like the idea of the exhausted boy having to stay up later than he evidently did- doing god knows what, he might add- to catch up on notes. So yes it started with the thought of Michael not taking notes, among other things. 

* * *

Michael walked into the class room, with his head bowed and the purple bruises under his eyes darker than ever. His green hair looked somewhat deflated, it was obviously representative of his mood, and his hoodie looked extra cuddly and warm. Meaning he would be asleep in approximately 3 minutes. True to form, when he stomped over to the desk and sunk himself into it, he threw his arms down and was asleep. But this time his face wasn’t buried face down in his arms. No he was looking to the right, and his face was…well it was everything Luke could have hoped for.

By looking to the right, Michael had offered his face to any of the praying eyes that would fall on him. And the blonde haired boy almost sighed at the sight. His face was completely slack, relaxed and peaceful looking. He’d never seen the obviously exhausted boy without the muscles on his forehead condensed into a frown, and honestly, in Luke’s opinion anyway, he looked beautiful. With closed eyes the golden lashes of his eyes, splayed out against the white of his skin, barley brushing the dusty pink of his cheekbones. His cute little nose twitched ever so often when one of the little puffs of air that left his parted mouth- yes, his mouth was parted when he was asleep, and honestly the fantasies of pressing kisses all over his lips and face were running havoc in Luke’s head- blew against his hair until it fell back on his nose again. He ever so slightly scrunched up his nose, so it must have tickled, and Luke had to fight back a smile, and also the intense feeling that made him crave to brush the hair from the boys pale face. The little puffs of air left no sound, and his lips looked even plumper- and kissable, but whatever,- and Luke honestly felt winded. Or subjected to some terrible punishment, as no one deserved to be able to be within 20 yards of someone so perfect and adorable. 

So that lesson was spent staring, staring at everything that was Michael, whilst he vowed that next lesson he would take notes. Two sets of notes, in the hope that Michael would carry on sleeping in their maths lessons, so he could see his face looking so serene. Oh and so Michael can get some sleep of course, he reasoned. If Michael ever realised that yes, he did need the notes, the he would stop sleeping in lessons and Luke didn’t think he could go back to just staring at the back of his head. Every time the green haired boy shifted in his seat that lesson, he hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t move his face away, snatching the glimpses of his fluttering eyelashes when something too exciting happened in a dream he was having, from him. He didn’t move away, and if Luke didn’t stop looking then nobody needed to know. 

* * * 

The next Monday, Michael’s hair was pink. Ever so slightly pink. Like the pink of the marshmallows in a white and pink bag when they are dusted in that whitish coloured powder that sticks to your fingers and clothes. It was light and almost white with a hint of pink. It reminded Luke of candyfloss and you wanted to touch it, run his hands through it, whilst Michael stood there fumbling with the cuffs of his jumper. His hair was pink, and Luke almost fell out of his chair. 

Twenty minutes into the lesson, he realised what a terrible idea this was. His hand was aching so badly, his thumb felt like it had been dislocated and the little callous that everyone gets when writing way to fast in tests, honestly felt like it was on fire. Luke’s hand flew across the paper, and the lesson flew by with only a few chances of looking upwards to where Michael was. The blonde tried- and failed- not to look at his pink hair, as really, how was he not meant to have a heart attack. That would be a good story, boy with broken hand dies from cuteness of a boy with pink hair, who did we forget to mention actually doesn’t know he even exists/isn’t completely straight.

By the time the lesson was over, Luke had two sets of notes. One horribly scruffy, with annotations made in shorthand that in all fairness he wouldn’t actually be able to understand later, ink smears and horribly week abbreviations of words. And the other, quite frankly, was somewhat perfect. The swirly, steady hand writing that marked the page, alongside the detailed step by step- did he mention numbered?- ‘how to’ s on solving all the questions, and also the little extra bits of information highlighted in green pen, glared back at him. It looked like a work of art next to Luke’s personal scruffy notes.

-

With five minutes left, he headed the page M.C- M for Michael, and the C because Luke had seen the initial stitched into the strap of his backpack at the start of the year. With a final glace to the still sleeping boy in front of him, taking in his hair and the way his long legs were scrunched up under the desk, he felt a burst of confidence and scribbled something down at the bottom of the paper. In pencil of course, so as to not ruin the notes. 

Once he hurried out of the room, stopping as conspicuously as possible by the elbow Michael head wasn’t resting on, and slipping the paper underneath it, you stopped at the door way and turned back to look at Michael. He had just woken up, the guy with the tall blonde quiff having kicked his foot. Sleep still clouded his eyes and when he looked at the perfectly made notes on his table, he looked quizzical for a second and then smiled. He flipped the page over and got to the pencilled in part at the bottom. His small sleepy smile turned into a full faced grin that even touch his eyes. 

_I like your new hair :)_

* * *

So technically that’s how it began. And for weeks that’s how it carried on. With an aching hand Luke would leave the lesson. Consolidated notes in his head for sure, seeing as he’d written them twice, but also a little fluttering of anxiety that happened every time he took out a pencil to write at the bottom of the notes. The bundle of nerves, or maybe apprehension at the coloured haired boy thinking he was a bit weird- Luke didn’t expect him to wake up when he ‘dropped off’ the notes, so that never concerned him- contained itself in his stomach from the time Luke slipped the note under the crook of Michaels elbow, till the time he caught a glimpse of his bashful smile from the doorway. 

Michael had now started to scrabble to read the little note. Not even flicking his gaze across the notes Luke had meticulously made and only turning the paper over quickly to see what the other person had written. The smile on his face never faltered or wavered depending on what was sprawled on the paper, not even when one time he had caught sight of the blonde-quiff-that-wasn’t-as-good-as-Luke’s haired boy stealing the paper to jeer at the sappy grin on Michael’s face. 

The words at the bottom varied. Mostly different and relating to his hair, or his eyes or his smile or his…his, well everything. It was adorable how the first couple of times he had received the notes he almost seemed shy and then a little frantic when he scanned the classroom for a prank cam or something similar. However once it seemed to become a regular thing, he stopped worrying. He almost expected the notes and messages. The beginnings of a smile always lit up his face when he was woken up after the final bell, turning into something more breath-taking – quite literally; it took his breath away- and easy. 

_Your eyes look so green with your new hair_

_Do you realised how well placed your eyebrow piercing is?!_

_I prefer the circular black earrings you wear, rather than the hoopy ones with the little triangles dangling from them. Very punk rock ;) . That one was a joke, just to confirm that, even though he did prefer the black earrings._

_Your legs look great in those jeans_ Luke threw that one away, and instead wrote: _I like your jeans :)_

_Did you know you part your mouth when you sleep?, its only slightly (hugely) adorable ._ He felt quite bold writing that one. 

_Can I just point out how your music taste is soo great, but you’re not really gonna be able to hear anything soon if you keep listening to your music that loud? Like I don’t mind though aha_

_Why don’t you bring coffee to this lesson so you stay awake?_

_Your hair looked particularly fluffy today, you looked_ ( he crossed that out) _are cute_

 _I bet your hair is reallllly soft to touch when it’s all messy_

Then after weeks of writing it down, and then crossing it out, and then writing it down again, Luke finally plucked up the courage to sprawl the question that had been bugging him for ages down on the paper. Without giving himself a second thought, he zipped up all of his things in his bag, and made his way to Michael’s desk. Slipping the note under it and bolting out of the classroom. This time Luke didn’t look back to see Michael’s expression, he didn’t want to see the look of anger when some random stranger started poking around in his business. The tight ball of nerves never left his stomach, sitting there and lying in wait. 

_Why are you always so tired?_

Luke missed the look of determination that flashed across Michael’s eyes once he’d read the note. 

* * * 

The next lesson, Michael came in looking like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed. He wasn’t wearing his snuggly hoodie, because he was wearing a leather jacket, and Honest to God, Luke wanted to rip it off him. Compared to his still candyfloss hair, it reminded him that yes Michael may look, ‘punk rock’- and also like he could easily jump wire a motorbike whilst simultaneously smoking a cigarette- but he was still the adorable little kitten that slept with a parted mouth and flittering eyes. Surprisingly the leather jacket from hell itself wasn’t what drew Luke’s attention to him- well drew it more than it normally did. It was the huge energy drink in his hand. From the ‘energetic’ sounding name, it promised energy, which in all fairness Michael lacked this early in the morning, sugar because who the hell doesn’t need sugar, but most importantly caffeine. The absence of the sleeping hoodie and the presence of caffeine, clicked in Luke’s head. So he was trying to stay awake. To tell him to stop? To tell him to mind his own bloody business? To tell him to stop being a weirdo creep who drools at sleeping boys with pink hair? Luke’s stomach churned when he sat down at his desk. 

For the first twenty minutes, Michael succeeded. He remained awake and even managed to take notes for some of the lesson. Notes that Luke secretly hope he was disappointed with as they looked nothing like the masterpieces he handed the other boy every lesson. But his boot clad foot tapped on the floor, bouncing his knee up and down with restlessness and his hand flicked his pencil end on the top of the table in a quick pattern rapidly. So when the teacher started to ramble about ‘completing the square’, his head hit the table and he was asleep. But it was fitful. Every now and then he would jerk, or his foot would twitch with the amount of caffeine and sugar running through his body. It looked almost counterproductive, surely that type of broken sleep was just more tiring than being awake. Luke took the notes down for him anyway, and the pain in his hand almost felt good when he knew it was going to a just cause. 

Michael hadn’t twitched in a while, remaining more or less fully dormant for the last ten minutes of the lesson. It was good to see. There was no real tension when the blonde got up from his desk and headed to Michael on the way out to slip him his notes. Unless the slight- huge- tugging of his heart at the spotless white paper that should have been marked with the charcoal grey of a little message. Luke had decided to leave the paper void of any note this time, and his heart felt as empty and plain as the paper. Slipping the note under his elbow, he made his way to leave. And made a mistake. A huge mistake. Misjudging the height of Michael’s combat boot, he fell into it when he tried to step over it, causing him to sprawl forward into the desk in front of Michael’s, waking the boy himself in the process. He hadn’t been in as deep a sleep as Luke had thought, so when he was woken, he sprung upwards, knocking his chair back significantly with a screech. His face was wide with shock, but from being woken up. It hadn’t clicked yet why he had been woken up, he was still half asleep. 

“I’m up! I’m awake! I wasn’t asleep at all!” he shouted. Eyes wide until he fully woke up. “Oh,” he said, suddenly realising where he was. He took in the sight of the boy leaning awkwardly on the desk in front of him, breath caught in his throat as Luke silently begged that he didn’t piece the papers and his hyperventilating self together. “Sorry to scare yo-“ . And he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed, and fluttered to the papers on his desk.  
“You.” he said, the lack of emotion winding him more than the fact that he had nearly impaled himself with the corner of the table. 

“Me?”. So maybe playing dumb wasn’t the best idea, but oh well. 

Michael gestured his hand around at the highlighted notes on his desk. “Why?”  
“Um,” he bit his lip, brain spinning as he tried to think of another way to say _I like really really like you and don’t want to see you tired or sad and I always quite like the way you look so cuddly when you are asleep so I wanted to see it more often_ without sounding like a paedophile. It felt like there were a tiny army of pic axe wielding wasps in Luke’s head trying to hammer their way out all at the same time. This was not how it was meant to happen. Honestly this thing Luke had going on wasn’t even meant to go on this long. “I um, you looked like you needed the sleep?” The words that sounded so foreign and full of lies in Luke’s head, raised at the end like a question, indicating that they weren’t 100% accurate. 

Michael raised a perfectly pierced eyebrow. A small smile tugging at his lips. Despite how his knees were buckling at the nearly-a-smirk- on Michael’s face, it surprised him how he had managed to stand up and now not be leaning on the desk for support . Now only the pink-haired boy’s desk separated Luke from him, it wasn’t enough space to stop Luke from doing, well doing _something._

“And the little messages?” Okay no he was smirking. This was obviously not okay. Like Luke was not okay with the whole situation, let alone that sly little smile across Michalel’s face or the twinkle in his eyes. 

“Um.” That time he didn’t even try and explain himself. 

“Well, I think they were very , uh, nice” His cocky façade fell slightly when he reached a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. A somewhat endearing mannerism. 

“You’re welcome” he mumbled, even though it sounded more like the sound of someone choking with the way his voice broke and silenced at the end. “I’m gonna, like, um, okay?” Luke stumbled over his words, making it clear that even though he apparently couldn’t form a coherent sentence, he still had a brain to know that he needed to leave the room right now, and the legs to make him do so. Turning away from him quickly, Luke cringed externally. 

“Hey wait” he said. Then Michael’s hand reached out and took Luke’s wrist between his hands. How the hell was he not meant to pass out? He let his blonde eyelashes flutter at the contact instead. Seeing as the pads of his short pale fingers were resting on his pressure point, Luke was slightly concerned that he was going to feel the erratic pumping of his blood from his pounding heart. 

“I was goi-“ Michael cut himself of mid-sentence. He shook his head, shaking off the thoughts of what he was going to say. The way his pink hair bounced slightly when he did so made Luke want to physically cry. 

Then his eyes took on a sheen of determination, the cocky smile came back, and he used the arm that was around Luke’s wrist to drag him towards his chest. Seeing as when he had tried to leave the room, Luke had stepped around the table; Michael wasn’t met with the resistance as he tugged Luke towards him. They crashed into each other, and Michael’s lips met Luke’s, insistent but soft and not persisting or pressuring at all. The hand that had been clasping his wrist twisted and then Michael was lacing their hands together. 

The squeezing of Luke’s heart, echoed the thumping of his blood in his ears, and the perfect pressure of Michael’s lips on his made him feel lightheaded. The kiss lasted forever and was over too soon. There was no licking of bottom lips, or gasping into mouths, or no five second delay for him to start kissing Michael back, and it was perfect. His bottom lip had slid between Luke’s but other than that, it was pure, innocent. But his hand was in baby pink hair, and God it was as soft as he had thought. He didn’t tug on it, just carded his large hands through the soft strands. 

Luke, then, pulled away slightly, resting his forehead on the shorter boys, breathing still heavy. His lips were an even brighter red now, and his green eyes shone. A smile plastered his face. Subconsciously Luke ran his tongue over his own lips, seeing if he could still feel Michael there. His eyes flicked down to the movement of Luke’s tongue wetting them, and his red mouth parted ever so slightly. Luke wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been at such a close distance. One of his tatooed arms with still laced with the blondes and the other was hung loosely over his hip with the palm on his lower back. The hand that wasn’t playing with the fluffy bits of Michael’s hair at the base of his neck felt warm and small in the other boys hand. 

The taller of the two breathed out slightly, hoping Michael’s lips tingled when he did, with a reminder of the kiss they’d shared. His green eyes shone brighter. “Your hair in actually really soft” Luke whispered, almost like it was a secret, to which Michael grinned, large and wide and ducked his head down to kiss him again. 

Neither of them noticed the gust of air that passed through the hardly-ever open window and blew the notes from the desk top and onto the floor. When Michael parted his lips against Luke’s and he followed suit with a little tug to Michael’s hair, they didn’t realise when the papers skimmed across the floor. The papers stopped when they reached the feet of two boys- both with thick accents, just one Irish and the other thick Australian, but they didn’t notice them as Michael stepped forwards and pressed the small of Luke’s back against his desk whilst sliding his tongue against his.

And they also didn’t notice when one of the boys with the curly hair turned to the other and whispered “I told him he should dye his hair pink” before they both tiptoed as quietly as they could out of the empty hall and closed the door behind them. The clicking of the door closing shut was lost to the whispered word of “Thanks” from Michael, and the feeling of his lips once again sliding against his own.


End file.
